Bad Strange
by HelsinkiAngels
Summary: Jack encounters a little boy whose idea of "fun" is a far cry from conventional. He learns that some monsters don't always take the shape of mustache-twirling villains or towering nightmare horses. One-shot, complete.


_Thomas Wyre is mine, but I do not own Rise of the Guardians in any fashion. **CAUTION** : This story involves hints of some fairly disturbing themes, so proceed at your own risk._

* * *

Thomas Wyre was a strange little boy.

His first days of school had been unsatisfactory. It was _boring_. Nobody had known him, and had taken to that weird, time-honored ritual of trying to introduce themselves. _Do you want to be friends? What's your name? Do you want to play a game with us?_ Each question irked him, and he never answered. Some children took the hint, but there were a few who had been stubborn.

The first incident had been with a young lady by the name of Elizabeth Dayton. A girl with a sweet disposition, she was never one to be unkind to others, and to her, Thomas had been no exception. For the first two weeks, she had gone out of her way to bring him into games, even against the silent derision of the other children. She sat with him during lunch, and kept by him when they had classes together.

Thomas Wyre hated her.

No one had witnessed what had happened; the only thing the school knew was that Elizabeth Dayton had burst into the nurse's office, screaming at the top of her lungs, with half her hair missing, rooted directly from the scalp. She wouldn't say, exactly, what had happened, but from that day on, she stopped inviting Thomas to play games. Though the indifferent school administrators went about their business, addressing the issue with little more than a school assembly, a ripple began in those secret circles that only school children know. A carrying whisper of terror:

 _Do not approach Thomas Wyre_.

He would laugh, sometimes, but only when near others, where he could see them react. It was without mirth; caterwauling, uneven laughter, without inflection in the tone, as if he were only capable of producing a flat screech. It never touched his eyes, but stroked like an unwelcome finger across the necks of all who heard it. Footsteps that were formerly casual always quickened away at that laugh; even the teachers shied from it.

Thomas Wyre soon grew bored.

The quiet corners of torment were not enough; the revulsion in the faces of his peers was not enough. He couldn't keep containing the drive to do something, to satisfy that itch of cold curiosity inside himself. There was some reprieve, for a few weeks, as he chanced upon an injured bird on the way home from school, but the sudden emergence of missing pet posters did not satisfy the roots of his insatiable cravings.

Thomas Wyre always wanted more.

* * *

Jack Frost felt it at the back of his mind.

It was a feeling akin to some of the 'senses' the other Guardians had; Tooth, with her innate knowledge of the types of lost teeth, and the memories contained therein; Bunny, with his keen radar for hopes that needed nourishment; Sandy, with the ability to find those in need of dreams; and North, with his impossible, twice-checked lists of wonder.

For Jack, it was the capacity to find both fun, and lack thereof.

Of course, it was obvious as the winter wind to him when a child seemed bored in appearance. Even with his newfound role as a Guardian, he hadn't let his job separate him from being there, in the field, the way the work still sometimes did with the others. But now, even when he couldn't _see_ the children, Jack had discovered ways to hone that instinct, to go where he was needed, and bring joy and games to those who wished for it.

It was different this time; the feeling of _restlessness_ , of untempered boredom, had an unfamiliar tang to it, and he couldn't place what it was. But the feeling of boredom was so powerful that, in the middle of crafting a gentle snowstorm for Seattle, Jack finally abandoned his work, and took off in the direction of this disturbance.

The trail led him to Burgess.

He landed on the rooftop above the general store, frowning at the destination. Could it be that Jamie and his friends were feeling so down? Down enough to radiate this peculiar sensation? Jack's feet left the roof, and he flew out to Jamie's house, slowing down in front of the boy's window. He peered inside, but found only an empty room.

"Oh. Right. School," he muttered.

School could explain the boredom. But as Jack made for the school, doubt pressed again. Jamie didn't hate much about school, and often had a lot of fun with the classes he was good at. Plus, there was always fun to be had at recess. Why, then, was there a sudden change?

It took Jack longer than he would have liked to locate his First Believer. Flying by windows and peering into classrooms, he searched, frustration growing with the ever-present tickle in his mind. When he finally spotted a familiar mop of brown hair, however, his puzzlement shot to new levels. Jamie was there, with his classmates, playing a game – something to do with Spanish class. The boredom didn't come from him, that much was clear.

But the presence was in this classroom.

Jack hung about, squinting at the arrangement – children in groups of three or four, laughing and talking, while a teacher supervised. And there, in a far corner, almost hidden from view, was the origin.

The boy was alone, surrounded by a very clear gap between himself and the other children. He had some of the flashcards with him; pieces of the game. But he didn't partake in the activity. Instead, he held a pair of scissors, and was carefully demolishing the cards. There was no joy in his activity, and he seemed to be cutting the cards with increasing frustration.

Jack almost pitied him; what was the boy doing on his own? Perhaps he didn't have that many friends, hence his agitation. It was a situation that Jack was all-too familiar with – being unseen, and by proxy, unloved. But he'd always found ways to make his own fun, and always delighted in bringing fun to the kids, even when they couldn't see him.

Tired of reconnaissance, and with a new purpose in mind, Jack endeavored to find a way into the building, to bring some sorely-needed entertainment to this lonely boy. But, as he stepped through the doors, the bell rang, and was followed shortly afterward by excited shouts and a sudden tide of youngsters, all rushing to leave their classrooms. Jack quickly alighted on top of a locker, to avoid being run through, and grinned as he caught on: It was recess time.

"Jack!"

Pulled from his troubles by the shout, Jack turned and saw Jamie and Pippa, rushing down the hall with the crowd. They very nearly returned his enthusiastic wave, but checked themselves around their peers. It really wouldn't do, to be seen waving to thin air.

Once most of the crush had filed out the doors, Jamie and Pippa stopped by the locker set, turning to each other as if to have a conversation.

"What are you doing here, Jack?" Jamie asked, without looking up.

"Thought I'd stop by for a bit," Jack answered. "I figured you might be bored, but-"

"It's actually been a pretty fun day," said Pippa. "Could always use a good snowball fight to make it better, though!"

Jack laughed, and leaped down from the lockers. "Sure thing. But there was someone in your classroom who looked kinda left out. Maybe you could invite him along to the fight."

There was just a hint of scolding in his tone; Jack hadn't really expected Jamie or his friends to exclude anyone, particularly after welcoming Cupcake into the fold. Then again, he wasn't expecting the sudden fear that shadowed both children's faces, either, as they understood who Jack was talking about.

"Um... we can't," Jamie mumbled.

"Why not?"

"Because. That kid is... different. He doesn't like to play with... around... other kids."

"Oh," Jack's smirk faded. "Well, maybe he would like it more if he was invited to the group more often."

"No!" Pippa blurted, too quickly. "I mean... he just doesn't like to, Jack. That's all."

Jack squinted in suspicion. "Is there something you guys are worried about?"

"No... but come on, let's go build a snow fort or something," Jamie said, grabbing Jack's hand. "I don't want to waste recess inside!"

With some reluctance, Jack allowed himself to be pulled along. He babbled questions along the way, which were either ignored or answered vaguely. He finally stopped when he saw that the effect was starting to have potential to dampen the fun, and instead joined Jamie and his friends in a frenzied snowball fight. The fight quickly spread to other children on the playground, the air resembling a battlefield with the amount of snow flying through it.

It was in the middle of this fabulous chaos that Jack heard the faint cries.

"Let go of me! Thomas, _please let go!_ I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hit you!"

Jack glanced around, instantly on guard from the pain in the child's voice. While the snowball fight raged on around him, he was suddenly struck by the ebbing of that stray sensation of boredom. It faded so rapidly that it nearly made him dizzy. And the more that child cried out, the faster the disappearance went.

Before Jack could fly up to pinpoint what, exactly, this disturbance was, he was suddenly pelted by a hail of snowballs, followed by a surge as Jamie's group tackled him into a snowbank, all of them squealing and laughing. He went down in a tangle of arms, legs, staff, snow and giggling kids, and his protests for them to stop, so he could listen, were drowned out.

By the time he got disentangled from the group, the cries had vanished, leaving behind an awful feeling in his gut. He scanned the playground, but no trace remained.

"Jack, are you okay?"

Jamie's insistent voice drew him out of his worried scan, and he tamed his expression immediately, offering a thousand-watt grin.

"That was fun, wasn't it?"

"Heck yeah! You should come to our school more often! That was the _best_ recess ever!"

"I'll keep it in mind for tomorrow, for sure."

"Jack, when are we getting another snow day?" Caleb interrupted.

"That's a surprise, kiddo!"

Caleb groaned, but joined Jack in laughing as the Guardian flung one final snowball in his direction. The children began scooping up more snow, ready to start another round, when the bell cut them short. This time, it was the whole group groaning.

"Just five more minutes!"

"The bell must be early, that was _way_ too short!"

"We have to go back to class," Jamie explained, to a slightly perplexed Jack. "You promise to come back tomorrow?"

"I promise," Jack said, suddenly stiffening and solemnly placing a hand over his heart, to the laughter of the others. "See you guys tomorrow."

He followed the kids briefly as they ran back towards the school buildings, commanding the wind to playfully ruffle at their clothes and hair. Only when the last of Jamie's group was indoors did he let his grin fade, for during their parting conversation, he had felt the rushing return of that tainted boredom. He knew he should find out who had been crying out in distress, and knew that it had something to do with that lonely little boy. But what had _happened?_

He launched himself into the air, once more on the trail. He would find that child, he decided. There was something amiss here, and he would solve it.

* * *

Thomas Wyre did not return to class.

While the teachers had their backs turned, he slipped out, cautiously taking the back streets to his home, to avoid the wandering attention of adults on the main streets.

His hands would not be still, not for a moment. It had been _infuriating_ – he'd had a grip, had a hold on that little girl. He'd been ready for the fix, for the rush that came from tasting her terror. But in a moment of confusion, a stray snowball had struck, knocking him flat, and he'd lost that precious hold. He knew she would never tell anyone of the brief encounter, for fear of provoking his wrath. But she had stolen his fix.

It wouldn't do to attract too much attention; twice in a day was too much. But he had that cat at his house, and he needed that cat now. His steps quickened through the thick layering of snow, as anticipation drove him forward. He scarcely noticed the stirring of a cold breeze from somewhere behind him.

Jack landed a few paces away, and studied the truant boy, another frown creasing his brow. The kid kept a sharp pace, and but Jack followed easily, leaping with casual grace from dumpster to car to sign.

"Jeez, what's the rush, kiddo?" he asked.

The boy didn't respond, of course; he couldn't see Jack. Didn't believe. Yet ever did that feeling pour off of him, and Jack wasn't about to let it go.

He gained on the boy, then took to flight, before landing a fair distance ahead of him. Gripping his staff, he quickly formed up some of the snow, shaping it like a prized sculpture. In moments, he'd built a snowman, right in the boy's path. He pulled back and waited expectantly.

Thomas stopped in his tracks, eyeing the anomaly doubtfully. No expression was present on his face, but his eyes were sharp and calculating. He glanced about himself, seeking whoever had interrupted his stride with this structure, but found no one. With fingers still twitching, he marched right up to the snowman, standing in front of the ice-crafted, smiling face, and gave it a hard, unwavering stare.

"It's not gonna bite, despite what people tell you," Jack said wryly, after a moment.

"'Let go, Thomas!'"

Jack froze, gawking at the boy. For a moment, he thought he'd been seen, but the dawning realization that Thomas was talking _to the snowman_ was no less confusing. The call the child had made was a mimic, almost perfect... save for the fact that his voice was completely flat.

"'Let go!'" the boy growled at the snowman. "'It hurts!'"

He lunged, both fists out, striking the inanimate snow.

Jack drew back in shock. "What are you doing?!"

"'I'm sorry, Thomas! Let go of me! Please!'"

On impulse, Jack reached out to try to stop him, but his hand merely went through the boy. Thomas continued striking, suddenly flying into a frenzy, as he battered the snowman into nothingness. He repeated those mocking yells, adding kicking and stomping, and Jack raised his staff in alarm, ready to halt the rampage.

He never got to that point. Thomas stopped on his own, quite abruptly, the calls dying on his tongue. He kept that same, strange stare on the pile of snow, his breath coming disturbingly evenly through his nostrils.

Jack felt it then. At the back of his mind.

The listless boredom drained, just slightly, still present, but diminished. And with the draining, a new sound appeared from Thomas. A sound that had the hairs on the back of Jack's neck standing straight up.

Thomas Wyre was laughing.

It was a sound Jack had never heard before in his life, and never, ever wanted to hear again. Like a continuous screech, it rang out, rising and falling with each breath, but still never showing an ounce of tone. No emotion. No feeling. Just cold, brutal and cruel.

And Jack suddenly understood.

Thomas Wyre was having _fun_.

In his 300-odd years wandering the earth, Jack had seen some fairly disturbing things: Starvation, illness, wars, and the people killed by his own element... but as he watched Thomas take glee from the destruction of an icon of innocence, Jack felt sick, and conflicted. He was a Guardian of Children, yet here was a child before him, who defied all the common sense properties of a child. There was nothing innocent in Thomas; nothing kind or caring.

Yet, he was having fun.

Jack turned from Thomas, taking off as quickly as the wind would let him fly. He didn't want to glance back; didn't want to see this twisted creature any longer than he had to.

And as he flew, ever northward, that feeling returned.

* * *

North's back ached.

These days, it wasn't uncommon for backaches to plague him, while he labored away over his creations, but today it was being a particularly persistent pain. He supposed it didn't help that he had spent the last four hours at an angle, leaning over a tiny model of a city. A special gift, for a special child – one steadfast believer, who held great interest in painting these kinds of models.

He was so caught up in the work that he might not have noticed the arrival of a familiar presence, had not his back given a twinge of complaint at the chill in the air. With effort, he straightened, mumbling a curse under his breath at the strain. But when he turned, a grin split his features.

"Jack!" he boomed. "Welcome back!"

Jack didn't return the greeting right away; he appeared distracted, and his trademark mischievous grin was unusually absent today. His hands fidgeted, twirling his beloved staff this way and that.

"Why such a face?" North pried. "Did Bunny tell you off for messing with Warren again?"

"No, I... I came to ask you something," Jack avoided North's gaze.

"Okay. But first, we sit down. Relax. Have cookies!"

Reluctantly, Jack let North shoo him over to a comfortable chair, though he was mindful to avoid the one near the fireplace. He absently grabbed a cookie from the plate of a passing elf, but didn't bite into it. He felt suddenly exposed and uncertain. The response was automatic, as he raised his hood almost unconsciously. North took the chair opposite him, and seeing Jack's hood up, became more serious.

"You are troubled by something."

Jack nodded, and finally looked directly at his fellow Guardian. "Have you ever encountered... odd kids?" He cringed at his own sub-par description.

"Odd? Of course. Always some child who is wishing for socks instead of toys."

"No, not like that. I mean... odd, like... strange. Bad strange."

"Bad? There are children on Naughty List for misbehaving, of course."

"And do some of those Naughty kids, um... have they ever _hurt_ anyone on purpose?"

"Jack. Why don't you cut to chase? What did you see?"

"There was a little boy in Jamie's town," Jack blurted, looking away again. "I felt that he was bored, so I went to check it out. And I saw him on his own, he... he wasn't interacting with the other kids. I asked Jamie about it, but he looked... he looked _scared_. Like I'd told him Pitch was back or something."

"Jamie was afraid of other boy?"

"Yeah. Pippa was, too. Then we were having a snowball fight on the playground, and I heard a kid screaming like someone was hurting her. I couldn't find where it was coming from, but I... I _felt_ it."

North leaned in. "Felt what?"

"When the girl was screaming, the boredom went away. Like the person who was making her scream was... enjoying it."

Silence fell in the wake of this remark. Though he didn't notice it, Jack was trembling. North reached out and set a comforting hand on Jack's shoulder.

"Have you not encountered bully before?" he asked kindly.

"No, I have, but it wasn't just bullying! It was worse. Much worse. I didn't understand at the time, but the boredom came back, so I followed it to the boy. And I wanted to make him happy! I wanted him to play. I built him a snowman..." Jack swallowed, hard, recalling the look in Thomas's eyes. "He... he attacked it. And the whole time, he was mocking that little girl's cries for help, _mocking_ her, like he was pretending that the snowman was her. And he laughed, and... it was like he didn't feel it. Like he _couldn't_ feel it."

North felt his blood run cold. He recalled names, of years gone by; rare names, that had shown up on the Naughty List in deep red ink. Names that would sometimes haunt him, well into the small hours of the morning: _Dahmer, Lopez, Ridgway, Gacy-_

"I don't understand it," Jack went on, interrupting North's thoughts. "He was having fun. If I'd known he would attack like that, I'd have never-"

"Jack. Look at me."

Jack obeyed, confusion and distress now abundantly clear in his features.

"Sometimes, there is child born into world who is missing important part of themselves," North explained patiently. "There are also children who do have that part, but lose it in face of terrible events. It does not happen often, but when it does, that child can often turn out, as you say, 'bad strange'."

"You mean like... child abuse?" Jack whispered.

"Yes, in some cases. But in other cases, some of these children are just born this way. Is important you understand: It is not your fault. Boy you met today is very sick."

"I'm the Guardian of _Fun_ ," Jack said bitterly. "I just... fun to me has always been, y'know, snowball fights and sledding. And I get that different kids like different things. I just never thought that there would be someone who gets that much fun out of... _that_ ," something occurred to Jack then, and he looked ill. "You said we protect all children, naughty and nice. Do I... do I have to go back and... entertain him?"

North sighed. "You do not have to do anything you do not feel comfortable doing, Jack. I know I said we protect all children – I still mean it. But this protection, it does not have to involve throwing self down to meet desires that should not be met," he paused, studying Jack. "You have met bullies. Do you help them tease other children just because they find teasing fun?"

"No..."

"It is the same here. Different matter, but same principle: Think of boy the way you think of bully."

"North?"

"Hmm?"

"What if he hurts Jamie, or one of Jamie's friends?"

"Then, that is where the 'Guardian' part comes in, no?"

In spite of his fears, Jack found a small smile forming. Slowly, he lowered his hood again, and though the feeling he'd gotten from Thomas was still present, it no longer scared him as much. He looked to the cookie that was still uneaten in his hand.

"I think I'm gonna need about fifty more of these before I feel better."

North laughed, a hearty rumble that startled several hurrying elves. He leaned in towards Jack conspiratorially.

"I won't tell Tooth if you won't."

* * *

Thomas Wyre's mother was an alcoholic, Jack learned. A woman tortured, both by her past, and by the steadily-growing realization that her son was not normal. The tiniest part of her that remained free of the grips of drink sheltered her boy; loved him, and didn't wish to see the world come down on his head.

Jack had walked the tiny corridors of that house, with its filthy floors, and the stale stench of cigarettes in its walls. He'd seen all the letters from the school, piled up among bills and grime on the kitchen counter. _Dear Ms. Wyre_. Suspicions and concerns, left ignored, or brushed away by a mother's last desperation.

Jack was there the day they took Thomas Wyre away.

He had been careful to shepherd the children of Burgess, keeping watch wherever Thomas was present. Too many times, Jack arranged for cornered children or unwitting victims to escape. But even with Jack on guard, incidents slipped through, and in a way, this was Thomas's undoing.

Like many predecessors of his ilk, Thomas had been caught.

It took one more child to break open the floodgates. The boy had not been seriously hurt, but it was enough. The child had told his elders about Thomas, against every fear and threat from the budding monster that stalked the playgrounds. No one quite knew what had inspired his bravery; sometimes, he cast a smile out the window, as the winter winds blew on by, and when the snowball fights on the playgrounds turned wild, his friends laughed at his terrible aim, for he was throwing perfectly good shots into thin air!

Though the relief in his chest was great, Jack never lost that trail of restlessness from Thomas. And as he watched people in strange uniforms escort the boy out of the school, Jack wondered how many more of these children existed. How many more monsters the world kept secret, growing in the beds of alcoholism and abuse.


End file.
